


take your time coming home

by monsterq



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 08:12:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14374590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsterq/pseuds/monsterq
Summary: Three times Tony and Rhodey kissed.





	take your time coming home

Tony is eighteen and drunk. Tony is eighteen today, and he’s a Stark, and the rest really goes without saying. 

He’d tell his dad about the newest evidence that he’s a chip off the old block, but it’s eleven p.m. and Howard still hasn’t contacted him. Or in any way indicated he knows what day it is. The Mariana Trench will open for a sunny day of hiking before Tony calls first. 

“It’s twenty-one,” Rhodey says. “The drinking age is twenty-one. Not eighteen.”

“Like it matters,” Tony scoffs a little blurrily, turning his head on the couch to stare at Rhodey and his half-hearted disapproving expression, his dark eyes and soft eyelashes. “I’ve been drinking since I was fourteen. Hell, you’ve drunk with me. It’s just that tonight I have an excuse.”

“A bad one,” says Rhodey, leaning against the wall. His arms are crossed. 

“That’s a weird way to say happy birthday,” Tony remarks. 

“I already _did_. Fine—happy birthday, you ass.” But he’s smiling. “Good job making it to adulthood.”

Tony feels warm inside. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the sound of Rhodey’s voice, the affection there in the sarcastic praise. Probably the first. Definitely the first. 

He takes another swig and flaps a hand in Rhodey’s direction. “C’mere. You’re too far away.”

Rhodey sighs and approaches. When he’s close enough, Tony grabs his elbow and pulls, sending him tumbling onto the couch beside him. Rhodey squawks in protest, and Tony pats his face clumsily to appease him. “Missed you.”

“I was gone for five days, Tony.”

“Yeah. Too long.” He sighs and turns to bury his face in Rhodey’s chest, inhaling his smell. Rhodey is warm and solid, like always. Distantly he wonders if he’ll be embarrassed by his behavior in the morning, but it doesn’t seem too important. 

Sometimes he misses school. He saw Rhodey every day then. They did homework together, ate together, walked campus and complained about their classes together. Rhodey introduced him to people who were never as interesting as Rhodey was, and Tony distracted him from the obsessive perfectionism he tended toward when stressed. Rhodey dragged Tony out of the lab and reminded him to eat and sleep, and Tony told Rhodey stories that made Rhodey laugh so hard he almost choked. Sometimes Rhodey steered him away from the assholes who thought Tony was too weird or too young or too smart to exist in peace, ended the encounters before Tony escalated things with that mouth that always got him into trouble—and sometimes Rhodey yelled at them himself. Tony bought Rhodey a shipment of his favorite snacks and an expensive watch; he didn’t know how else to say what he was feeling. He never does. 

Rhodey laughs a little. He slings an arm over Tony’s back, thumb settling in the groove of his shoulder blade. “All right. Let me up for a second, I’ve got something for you.”

“You do?” Tony lifts his head, and Rhodey extricates himself, surprisingly careful. Tony watches Rhodey walk across the room, distracted by the smooth skin on the back of his neck. Rhodey leaves the room, but he’s gone for only a moment; when he comes back, he’s carrying a small package wrapped in newspaper comics and scotch tape. 

He sits back down next to Tony and clears his throat. “Here. It took me forever to decide, but—anyway, I hope you like it.”

Tony swings his legs off the couch and sits up. He feels a little dizzy for a moment, and he lets himself lean against Rhodey. His heart is beating faster than it should be. 

Rhodey passes him the package, and Tony peels away the tape, wanting to savor the moment; then suddenly he’s impatient, and he rips the paper. Inside is a photograph, framed with scrap metal, wire and screws and cogs. The picture is of the two of them, laughing and mugging at the camera, Rhodey’s arm slung around Tony’s shoulder as he grins and Tony tipping toward him. There’s glitter on both their faces, a fountain in the dusk behind them. Tony remembers that night, a couple months before they graduated. The party they’d gone to had been boring, so they’d spent hours wandering the campus and making each other laugh. 

“Oh,” says Tony, and humiliatingly, his eyes fill with tears. He probably should have stopped drinking half a bottle ago. He scrubs his sweatshirt sleeve over his face, trying to pass off the motion as scratching his forehead. 

“Do you like it?” Rhodey asks, a little nervous. 

Tony wraps his arm around Rhodey’s shoulder, using the opportunity to bury his face in Rhodey’s jacket. “Yeah,” he says, muffled. “It’s good.”

He feels more than hears Rhodey sigh in relief. When they disengage a few seconds later, Tony’s eyes are caught by Rhodey’s face—his dark eyes, his cheekbones, his mouth. 

Tony doesn’t think about it. He leans forward and kisses Rhodey, just a soft press of lips, the warmth of Rhodey’s skin and his surprised exhale, the slight scratch of stubble where Rhodey needs to shave. 

It’s only a couple seconds. Then Rhodey is pushing him back with a hand on his chest. Tony’s lips, dampened with saliva and alcohol, catch slightly against Rhodey’s as they separate. Rhodey’s wide eyes are there in front of his, and Tony’s heart thumps as reality falls back into place. 

“Tony, what was that?” Rhodey asks. His voice is calm, but Tony can hear how shaken he is underneath. 

Tony opens his mouth and then closes it. Finally, he tries, “You don’t know? I know it wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“Tony—”

“No, wait. I meant, I’m sorry.” He can feel panic now like a dull clamor beneath the alcohol. “I didn’t mean to. Let’s just forget about it, okay?”

“Tony…” He’s starting to hate the sound of his own name. “It’s not—look, it’s just that you’re drunk, and you’re barely eighteen, and I can’t—”

“I know. I get it.” Tony’s flushing; he can feel it, hot and prickling under his skin. “Let’s just not talk about this, okay? We’ll pretend it didn’t happen.”

Rhodey looks dubious, but also a little relieved. He says, “Fine. If that’s what you want.”

“It is.” Tony shifts, rearranges himself, and lets his head thunk down on the opposite armrest. Maybe it’s his imagination, but he can still feel Rhodey’s body heat from here. 

*

He’s been back in the States for a week. A week of real beds and his own lab and good food; a week of secrets and stares and his own throat closing up when he tries to breathe. It’s fine, it’s fine. As long as he doesn’t think about it, it’s fine. Just keep moving. Keep working, and the crap in his mind won’t be able to keep up. 

Besides, Obie’s on his case about the stocks. His big hand clamps down on Tony’s shoulder or the back of his neck when Obie talks to him, the weight emphasizing his words. He always looks stressed these days, or frustrated, or something like it. Tony knows he’s not an easy person to care about. 

Rhodey finds him asleep by his workbench, face pressed against the countertop, a wrench fallen to the floor. When his eyes fly open to the feeling of Rhodey’s hand on his shoulder, adrenaline floods his veins and he expects for a moment to see cave walls, men with guns, Yinsen standing helpless by the wall. 

He takes a deep breath and reorients himself. Rhodey has stepped back, his posture ready, his eyes worried. Tony pastes a smile on his face and says, “Hey, buddy. I don’t remember giving you a key to my workshop.”

“I could be offended by that, but I’m not going to,” Rhodey says. “Jarvis let me in.”

Tony already surmised that, but he rolls his eyes and mutters “Traitor” anyway. At least nothing incriminating is in view. 

Rhodey’s shoulders relax a little. He comes closer. “Tony, I’ve been leaving you messages. You’re not answering. When was the last time you slept?”

“Uh, just now? I could have sworn you were there for that.”

“In a _bed_ , Stark. The rings under your eyes are about to take over your whole face.”

“Aww, sugarplum. You’re making me blush.”

“You know, I do notice when you avoid the question.” Rhodey sighs. “I don’t suppose you’ve eaten recently either.”

There isn’t much point denying it. Tony shrugs. “I’ve gone longer before. It hasn’t killed me yet.”

Rhodey’s eyebrows climb up his forehead. “Somehow the worst part is that I think you mean that to be reassuring.” He crosses the room to the mini fridge, opens it, and makes a distressed sound at its contents. “Jesus, Tony.” After a minute he brings over an energy bar and sets it down in front of Tony. “Eat this.”

“Ooh, I like it when you’re bossy,” Tony says. He decides to obey. It seems easiest. It’s not that he didn’t want to eat; it’s that it felt like too much work. The thought just made him tired and nauseous. Now that food is in front of him, he’s aware of a clawing emptiness in his stomach. He opens the package. 

“You’re having nightmares, right?” asks Rhodey. 

“Mmghrr,” Tony says, hastily stuffing half the energy bar in his mouth.

“It’s okay. I’ve been there—I get it. You don’t want to stop and be still, because that’s when it all finds you. But you can’t avoid it forever.”

_Watch me_ , Tony might say if his mouth weren’t full of oats and chocolate. _I can do it. I have to. I’m Tony Stark._ Instead, he just shrugs. He doesn’t think about sour water burning in his nose and throat. The choking, helpless terror. 

Rhodey sighs. People sigh a lot around Tony. He takes another bite of his energy bar, and Rhodey sits down on the extra stool. “Fine,” Rhodey says. “What are you working on?

Thankfully, before Tony fell asleep, he was working on something other than the suits, so he gratefully launches into an explanation. Or he tries to launch. He gets a quarter of the way into a basic outline of the manufacturing challenges of a cost-affordable solar-powered human-assisted flying bicycle before his eyes start getting heavy, his thoughts trailing off. The weight of food, as little as it is, in his stomach feels like it’s weighing down his whole body, making him slow and soft. “Did you drug me?” he demands, though the words come out blurry. 

“No, you idiot. You’re sleep deprived. That’s your body telling you you’re exhausted.”

“But I just slept,” Tony complains. 

“For like twenty minutes, sitting up, and only because you couldn’t stay awake. Go to bed, Tony.”

“I don’t want to,” he mumbles. It’s more to himself than to Rhodey.

“Yeah, I know.” Rhodey looks more understanding than he’d prefer. “It’ll be okay. Come on.”

Tony lets Rhodey nudge him off his stool and lead him across the room. He leans on Rhodey more than is actually necessary, probably, but then he trips and Rhodey really is holding him up. 

“Careful,” Rhodey says, pausing so Tony can get his feet back under him. They’re holding onto each other. Rhodey’s body is warm and his arm is strong and his shirt is soft. For a second, they stare at each other. 

“What, you going to kiss me?” asks Tony. 

Something strange flashes across Rhodey’s face. Tony tries to identify it, but then his heart leaps into his throat, because Rhodey really is leaning in and pressing a soft, quick kiss to Tony’s mouth. It lasts only a second, but when Rhodey pulls away, the air feels cold as he inhales. 

“What?” Tony says dumbly. 

Rhodey shrugs. “Every now and then, someone’s gotta call your bluff.”

Miraculously, Tony is unable to find words. 

He goes to sleep alone, two fingers pressed against his lips. 

*

Pepper has been spending time with Rhodey these past weeks. They chat, help each other with paperwork, and go to coffee shops or parks. Rhodey’s still getting used to his partial paralysis—Tony’s working on improving the robotic leg supports, but until they’re good enough, Rhodey’s mostly using a wheelchair. The best money can buy, of course, and better after Tony tinkered with it. He doesn’t want Rhodey to want for anything. His mind keeps replaying the sick, spiraling moment when Rhodey fell out of the sky. Because of him, at least in part. He copes as he usually does, though he’s trying to leave out the alcoholism this time—by throwing himself into his work. Maybe he can’t engineer the world into the shape he wants, the one where everyone he cares about is happy and okay and here where he can see them, but he can damn well try. 

Anyway, that means he’s been in his workshop a lot, and Pepper and Rhodey have been hanging out. 

Tony wonders if he should be jealous, but really he’s relieved; he’s so _tired_ these days. He feels less like a person than a scaffold of bones, hollowed out inside. He’s trying, but everything is wrong lately, and he doesn’t know how much he has to give in the interpersonal realm. Pepper and Rhodey deserve more. 

He knows better than to tell them that, though. He just drinks as much espresso as his body can handle, tries to fix the world’s problems, and lets them do their thing. 

So one Saturday, when he wanders into the kitchen for a sandwich and finds them both there, sitting at the table washed in sunlight, he’s not as surprised as he might be. 

“Hey,” he says, going straight to the fridge and opening it. Staring into its contents, he can’t remember what he wanted. After a moment, he pulls out the orange juice and sets it on the counter. “Up to anything? World domination, maybe?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Pepper says, smiling. “Come sit with us?”

Tony casts another frowning glance at the refrigerator. 

“You wanted food, not just juice,” Rhodey says. “At least, I hope you did. Maybe a sandwich?”

Tony points at him. “You’re a genius.” He opens the fridge again. 

“Hear that?” Pepper says behind him. “Now you _have_ to give me your thoughts on my shareholders presentation. You have more talents than you think, you know.”

Tony can’t see Rhodey shrug, but he thinks he recognizes that particular silence. 

He makes his sandwich. Crusty bread, peanut butter, bananas, and nutella—he’s in the mood for something sweet. He pours himself a glass of juice and takes it all to the table, sitting next to them. “What’s going on?”

“We’re just chatting,” Pepper says. 

“You’ve been hanging out a lot lately,” says Tony. 

“Does that bother you?” Rhodey asks.

“No!” Tony says. “Definitely not. I’m glad my two favorite people are friends.”

“Well, there’s been a lot to deal with lately,” Pepper says. “For all of us. Rhodey’s been very helpful.”

“Not as much as Pepper was to me,” Rhodey says. “We’re all having a hard time, I guess.”

Tony looks at him. Rhodey has dark gray circles under his eyes, and he looks like he’s lost some weight. He looks exhausted. He looks like Tony feels. 

His hair, though, is exactly the length he likes to keep it. Perfect. That doesn’t surprise Tony at all. 

“Are you sleeping?” Tony asks Rhodey. 

“More than you,” Rhodey shoots back, but then he sighs. “Not much, though. I can’t turn my brain off, and my legs feel strange. It’s just…hard. I’m adjusting.”

Tony thinks he sees nightmares in Rhodey’s eyes. He recognizes the look. But he recognizes, too, the unconscious way Rhodey angles toward Pepper and toward Tony himself, the way the lines of his face relax slightly when he looks at them. It makes Tony feel unworthy and scared, but glad, too. He wants Rhodey to have that feeling, even if part of him protests that it shouldn’t be toward Tony. 

“You’ll be back to yourself in no time,” Tony says instead of any of that. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. You can get through anything.”

Rhodey smiles tiredly. “I know it’s not just me, though. Neither of you are at the top of your game either. No offense,” he adds to Pepper, who raises her eyebrows. “You’re always at the top of everyone else’s game. But we’re all having trouble sleeping. You have the crazy eyes going on—” he points at Tony. “And you’re getting obsessive about your work being perfect.”

Pepper purses her lips and tips her head, acknowledging the point. Tony tries to look offended, but he doesn’t have the energy. 

“I just mean we’re all having a hard time,” Rhodey says.

There’s a short silence. Tony considers it as he gulps his juice—man, he was thirsty—and then, setting his glass down on the table with a decisive click, he throws an arm around each of them. He means the move to be casual, but the feeling of their familiar bodies unexpectedly tightens his throat, making him acutely aware of how little he’s touched anyone in the past few weeks. As a result, when he speaks, his voice sounds stranger than he means it to. “We’ll just have to watch out for each other, then.”

He kind of expects one of them to make a joke, to pull away after a second. But instead, both of them lean toward him, their sides pressing into his. “Yeah,” Rhodey says. “That’s a good idea.”

Pepper kisses him briefly. Her mouth is soft. “Yeah, it is,” she says. 

When they part, Tony turns his face from hers only to meet Rhodey’s eyes. He glances back at Pepper, and she smiles at him. 

When he and Rhodey kiss, he’s not sure who starts it, and it’s both a surprise and no surprise at all.


End file.
